


Better hope I don't blink

by ravelqueen



Series: Shiptember 2017 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eater Trials, Frottage, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Shiptember, desperate make-outs are the best make-outs, this is completely incidentally posted on the 1st of September but there you go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravelqueen/pseuds/ravelqueen
Summary: “Your tie is crooked, dear.” She said when he reached him, immediately straightening it. If she hadn’t done it, he’d never noticed the slight tremor in her hands. It made him swallow, made him want to do what his instincts were screaming at him, to run away from all this, from the way their voices echoing made him cringe, from his strong, composed mother spinning away, visibly steeling herself to walk out of the manor's door.





	Better hope I don't blink

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Shiptember, day 1, a one ship per day challenge thought up by my fellow nerds in the rot spot, to which I thought WELL 500 WORDS PER DAY PER COUPLE ISN'T TOO MUCH A COMMITMENT I CAN DO THIS
> 
> [looks at wordcount]....well hopefully this doesn't go on this way.

He had the urge to clear the grounds, raze them, to look out and see nothing. He let out a dark chuckle at the thought. The truth was he couldn’t even make himself take more than a few steps off the main path to the manor. When he went out at all. Most of the time he couldn’t bring himself to look too closely at them, didn’t want the devastation to overlay how he remembered them from his childhood.

 _Coward_ he heard in his father’s voice, in _His_ voice and shuddered. It used to make him angry, at least when Potter said it, angry enough to prove himself, to go out and show them, show _him_ , who the coward was. But in the end Potter had won, like he always did, been proven right.

What he could see was enough anyway – the places where his mother’s lily patch was still torn up from when Fenrir had decided to “play catch”. Draco didn’t want to think about it, didn’t even want to _go_ there. He didn’t know what – _who_ exactly they had played with. He remembered the screams and that was enough to know he didn’t want to check if there were…parts left over.

He abruptly closed the curtain, leaning his head against the velvet, breathing deeply. This wasn’t the time, this wasn’t the _headspace_ he needed to be in when –

“Darling, are you ready to leave?” his mother asked from the doorway, pulling on her gloves. She looked exactly as composed and impeccably dressed as if she was going to one of her saloons, a quiet in the storm. It made him want to check himself in the mirror, make sure he was up to standard, always feeling rumpled next to her. At least that hadn’t changed.

“Of course, mother.” He said, taking one last breath to brace himself, before he went out of his room, the dark of the hallways threatening now, when they had only been an unwritten adventure before.

“Your tie is crooked, dear.” She said when he reached him, immediately straightening it. If she hadn’t done it, he’d never noticed the slight tremor in her hands. It made him swallow, made him want to do what his instincts were screaming at him, to run away from all this, from the way their voices echoing made him cringe, from his strong, composed mother spinning away, visibly steeling herself to walk out of the manor's door.

“Can’t we-“he whispered, only to catch himself. They couldn’t, he knew that, even if it hadn't been cowardice that had gotten him into this whole mess, they couldn't, _he_ couldn't. If he ran, they would find him and what came after wouldn't be this... _civilized_. They had made that clear enough.

“What is it, Draco?” she called back distractedly, getting into the carriage she’d managed to convince the Aurors was _essential_ and _an heirloom from my great-great-grandfather,_ bending her pride so much just so they could keep it.

 “Nothing.” He got into the dark interior behind her, so desperately, humiliatingly grateful to be off the grounds, the tomb that once was his family’s pride. He stopped himself from checking his watch, because his mother always made sure they left early for the trials.

 

* * *

 

Harry knew he shouldn’t be in here. He knew Hermione would say that it was bad press and then she’d take a look at his face and tell him that he didn’t have to testify at the trial if he didn’t want to – even though they both knew that this was the one set of trials he _had_ to be at – tell him that they could _move_ the trials – even though he was the only reason these were the ones held last.

Which wasn’t fair, wasn’t _right,_ he knew that it wasn’t, making them wait that long. So he needed to be brave and, and strong and just get this testimony over with, so he could go back to hiding in the Burrow.

This knowledge had gotten him into the Ministry, which was when Arthur told him he had to take the invisibility cloak off, into the lobby of the courts – where the enchantments at the door had gotten rid of this glamour and made the press mob descend on him.

He couldn’t quite remember what happened next, just _panic_ and _need to get away,_ his fight or flight instincts at least picking the better option and making him get out of there – into, he checked his surroundings for the first time, his eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness, a cupboard.

He crammed his fist into his mouth, because he didn’t know how far away he’d actually gotten and a picture of him hiding in a random cupboard in the Ministry’s court would look bad enough, without him laughing hysterically at the same time.

He was just starting to calm down, his intermittent giggles sounding almost sane now – though the thought of Rita Skeeter spinning a story about how his trauma and cupboards are clearly intimately connected made the hysteria start up again – when the door swung open, making his heart stop in terror.

Before he could formulate an excuse, though nothing came to mind, the door immediately shut again, making him blink against the spots in his eyes. Which was why the only thing he could really make out was a silhouette slumped against the door and heavy breathing.

It must have drowned out his own, rabbit quick heart, the tiny quick breaths he tried to lengthen, deepen, so he could calm down, because whoever was in the cupboard with him clearly hadn't noticed his presence.

He was debating with himself on whether he should just not say anything, since the cupboard was deep enough to hide in, until the other one left and obviously anyone in here wasn’t coming for the conversation and he really didn’t feel like explaining what The Saviour of The Wizarding World was doing in here – when the stranger’s shoulders started trembling and _oh God._

“Um, hey.” He said into the silence, because while having to deal with questions and at the worst fawning was not something he looked forward to, _he_ wouldn’t want a perfect stranger to witness his breakdown, so it was only fair –

“ _Potter?!_ ” said an outraged, _familiar_ voice and then Draco Malfoy turned around.

 _How could I have not recognized the hair_ was the first thought in his head, which unfortunately brought back the hysteria, because _what was wrong with him_. By the way Malfoy’s face immediately went livid, he clearly hadn’t managed to hide the burst of laughter.

“How _dare-_ “Malfoy said, advancing on him.

“No, it wasn’t – I’m – I didn’t m - “he stammered out and this was why he had obsessively memorized all those little statements and figures of speech Hermione had prepared for him for when he went out, he was _terrible_ at this.

Malfoy slammed him against one of the shelves, _hard,_ so that something fell off it, crash loud in the room, cutting him off, because now that he was so close, Malfoy looked _devasted,_ raw and cut open and – Harry swallowed.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, laying his hands on Malfoy’s where they were twisted in his robes. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear.” He tried his best to appear sincere and honest, in the way which Ron had assured him was very effective, though it had never worked on Malfoy before.

Today was apparently a special day (of course it was), because Malfoy let him go, taking a step back, scoffing.

“Well, I guess I have never known you to behave rational or dignified, so why start now.” He sniffed, though it was missing _something._ Harry didn’t even know what, it just didn’t get his hackles up the way it would have just a year ago.

He slumped back against the shelf, because Hermione would say that showed how he had matured, but the truth was, he missed it, missed that person who could get so worked up about the tiniest insult, who didn’t know –

“You know sometimes I miss how simple it was, hating you.” He said. …. Out loud. Ok, so wow, he must be more rattled than he thought, because well done Harry, kicking people when they were down. Though it was true, it just – it used to be easy, hating the Slytherins, hating _Malfoy,_ with everything in him, nothing weird or complicated about that.

“Me, too,” Harry looked up at that, startled, at Malfoy standing there in his expensive dress robes, face naked, looking so fucking _tired,_ giving him a small, brittle smile. It looked like it hurt him, _he_ looked like Harry felt so often now and it made him want –

“So, what is The Saviour of The Wizarding World doing here anyway.” And the walls were back up, the sneer back in place and Harry felt a small, irrational sense of loss, a part of him wanting to stride over, put his hands on Malfoy’s face and do _something_ to get that expression back, so he could look at it longer.

It made him pause too long, made his “Just was too much.” come out too _real_ , to bring them back to the days when hating Malfoy was simple.

Malfoy felt it too, because he shrugged uncomfortably, looking away, fiddling with his cuffs. “What, you _afraid_ , Potter.”, he said, but instead of with derision it came out on a small, honest laugh, as if the idea really was that ridiculous, instead of –

“Yeah.” He answered, because something about this, it made him want to be honest. He wasn’t ashamed anyway, had stopped after the first week clinging to Hermione and Ron in that goddamn tent, all three of them jumping at every noise.

It got Malfoy to lose his mask again, shock and _something_ else all over his face, but Harry just looked back, weirdly calm, drinking in the sight of all that clear emotion until he looked down.

“I should be getting back.” Malfoy finally said, breaking the silence, looking like he’d rather fight a troll right now.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said and the anger was back on Malfoy’s face, moving closer again, how was he so _bad_ at this, why did they even let him interact with people, _Merlin._

“I _meant_ ,” he said putting up his hands defensively, “they aren’t going to start without me, will they?” It made Malfoy stop in his tracks.

“You don’t sound too happy about that, Potter.” Malfoy observed slowly, giving him a shrewd look, “I wonder why that is.”, something calculating in his voice.

Damn, he had moods like quick-silver. It made his head spin, made him stand up straighter, _awake_ in a way he hadn’t been since the Battle.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m not.” He shrugged, trying to ignore the way Malfoy was now pacing in a slow half circle in front of him, coming closer.

“And why would that be.” He mused, his voice dipping lower, getting a cruel tint, that reminded him of Snape, reminded him of – He swallowed. “Why wouldn’t the great hero Potter not want to be there, while they condemn all the Death Eaters.”

“Actually, this is the first trial I’ve been at personally.” He said quietly, trying to make his voice even, because suddenly and without warning, the anger he remembered was _back,_ hot in his veins.

Malfoy let out a laugh, cruel and strangled, “Is that so, what an _honour_.” His smile was a knives edge and Harry’s fists clenched. Malfoy was in his space again, so close he could feel his warmth through their robes.

“So, are you also responsible for us being the last ones, the last hurrah,” he snarled in his face, fingers curled in his robes in the same place as before “come to see the Malfoy house fall, for the last of us to be dragged in front of _their_ justice, _laughing –_ “

“I’m here to testify on her behalf.” And _that_ shut him up, made him go _still,_ in a way constantly moving Malfoy almost never did, “Your mother deserves it.” He said quietly, because she _did_ , a part of him still _hated_ her, would never forgive her, but.

She’d done the right thing in the end, was the reason he could wake up and see Hermione sleeping at the kitchen table with smudge marks on her face, could hold Teddy in his arm and _marvel_ , could be here in a cupboard, hiding in panic from reporters.

His was the only testimony that mattered, that could make sure she would go free for making that possible, even though the deaths kept him awake at night.

“You-“Malfoy started, but clearly couldn’t go on his voice _cracking_ as if it was broken in half, the hands trembling, his mouth slack and his eyes were so wide and clear –

He didn’t know who had moved, time going slow as morasses, but in fits and starts, looking into his slowly closing eyes so close to him, Malfoy’s soft, soft mouth against his, their whole bodies plastered together, clutching at his robes.

The soft sounds of kisses were loud in the room, time speeding up again, Malfoy letting go of his robes to get a grip in his hair, moving his head just a bit to change the angle, biting at his lips to get him to open up, muttering _come, on Potter_ under his breath and _oh_ -

He tightened his arms and the hand in his hair _clenched_ , and he needed _more, now._ Malfoy was right there with him, whining into his mouth, leg between Harry’s legs, making small aborted thrusts, writhing against him, clutching him closer, _closer_ , shivering when Harry started scrabbling at his clothes.

With a growl he turned, _slamming_ Malfoy against the much-abused shelf, something shattering, tearing the tie off, to get to his skin, needing to feel it, to _taste_ him, biting at the white, gleaming throat under him.

“Oh Merlin, _oh fuck_ ¸ Potter don’t you dare-“Malfoy was saying, but he also thrust _up_ at his first hard suck, moaning like it was torn out of him, open and shocked.

It made his blood flow thicker, faster, more _alive_ , euphoric, loving every bit of this, letting himself be wrenched up and _back_ , the hand in his hair and the harsh angle almost bringing tears to his eyes.

“Fair’s fair.” Malfoy said, with a gleam in his eye, biting down on the mirroring spot, savagely, holding him still with both hands, while placing stinging kisses all along his throat and neck. It made Harry relax almost involuntarily, held up only by the hand in his hair and the leg still between his, moving in little aborted thrusts, a tease, not enough and too much at the same time, arms around Malfoy’s neck.

“Well, look at you.” Malfoy said, trying for mocking, but missing it by a while, sounding joyful, his voice full, looking at him, like he was a prize, like he was something Malfoy had desperately wanted and _finally_ won, all at once present in a way he hadn’t been aside from his bursts of anger and it made Harry _writhe_ , made him moan, made him _whine_ in reckless abandon.

One of Malfoy’s eyebrows went up and he started smirking, the little git, superiority in the curl of his mouth and Harry was outraged, indignant, _laughing_ , at the rightness, the familiarity, the way he almost felt normal again, hauling that smug, smug face close to him, whispering _there you are_ against his lips, before swallowing the sinful sound Malfoy made at that.

Malfoy moved them again, then, away from the now precariously balanced shelf, pressing him against the wall and hiking one of his legs up, so he could move even closer and Harry moaned into the kiss at the pressure against him, thrusting, using his leg slung over Malfoy’s ass to make it better, to make him _move right_.

He got with the program, thrusting _back_ , _with_ him and he couldn’t – he stopped kissing him, couldn’t concentrate, everything becoming sharp and immediate. Malfoy’s mouth was slack letting out small frantic noises at every brutal thrusting of their hips, sounding as if it was being punched out of him.

Harry got a hand under his chin, making him look up, look into his eyes and they were – Malfoy was – he was flayed open, pupils blown huge, looking at Harry hypnotized, clutching at his face like a drowning man and it was –

Indescribable, like molting lava, making him want to slow down, to be gentle with the fragile thing in Malfoy’s eyes, while at the same time making him clutch harder, more, _now,_ addicted to the helpless _wanting_ in his eyes.

The triumph was bleeding into him, bleeding into his arousal, his orgasm suddenly so _close_ , dragging Malfoy closer into another savage kiss, sucking on his lips, asking him to _give it up, oh fuck, Malfoy, just do it, please_ , feeling Malfoy shudder at that and moan helplessly into his throat his thrusts becoming erratic, clutching to him -

His orgasm hit him right between his eyes, whitening everything out, making him see stars, a million bright colours before his eyes, slumping against the wall, Malfoy a dead weight in his arms.

He leaned back, eyes closed, breathing calming down, blissful in a way he hadn’t been since –  when Malfoy suddenly _stiffened_ in his arms. And reality came crashing in, complete with the frantic though of _oh god he just dry-humped with Draco Malfoy in a random Ministry cupboard._

Really, it was a bit of a relief that the bright colours hadn’t, in fact, been because of the good orgasm, but because whatever had fallen off the shelf had mixed and was producing tiny, multi-coloured fireworks and smoldering Malfoy’s tie, where it had fallen into the mess.

At least the subsequent panic and casting of water-spells (which made it _worse_ somehow, this is why he _hated_ potions) made it less awkward. Which Harry was ready to count as a win (as well as the actual win of the smothering charm working, hah, take that Malfoy) as long as they got out of there quickly enough to avoid anything else.

Which was when four Aurors burst into the room, shouting about a dangerous potions spill and drenching them in even more water, Hermione, Narcissa Malfoy and Arthur standing behind them looking distressed.

 

* * *

 

His mother was furious with him, in her silent way, he could tell, but he was feeling very relaxed, because - 

He couldn’t think about why, not with his mother sitting there, not when - he shifted slightly, silently giving thanks that the water had hidden away any evidence of – _don’t._

Finally, an Auror came in, telling them that the trial would start in an hour, that they could provide a change of clothes or he could send someone to get it. He nodded, having already send off a message to Malkins to get him a replacement set. The express charge should make her happy enough, that she wouldn’t mind serving him.

His mother was a stiff presence against, the window, holding herself still, and suddenly Draco realized that she _was_ forcing herself, that he wasn’t the only one afraid.

Only he wasn’t, he suddenly realized, not anymore, a calm inside him, because, because Potter had said –

“It’s going to be alright, mother.” He said into the quiet. His mother sent him a hard, angry look.

“Is that so? Even though you were apparently,”, she made an aborted motion, like a coil just held back, her mouth curling, “ _brawling_ with the key witness in a broom closet.”

She turned back to the window a sharp motion, nothing like her usual flowing grace. “I realize that you do not care for that boy, but that is _immaterial,_ he is _crucial_ , and I thought you _understood_ that.”

“Mother, no it’s – “he got up, needing to explain, but biting his lip at the last moment. “I do understand.”, he said quietly, “but I also _know_ Potter – he’s going to do the right thing.” He could hear the quiet certainty in his voice, which sounded too much like faith, like _belief,_ and he wanted to snatch them back, feeling naked, the same way he had when Potter had _looked_ at him, during, and –

 Someone knocked at the door, “Your clothes, Mr. Malfoy.” He sighed, turning away from his mother, telling himself it was going to be over soon, that they would get to go home, _together_ , the thought like a hummingbird in his chest, fluttering, bursts of joy every time its wings beat.

“You sound very sure, Draco.” His mother said from behind him, all the sharp edges in her voice smoothed away again.

“I am.” He said, simply. He took a breath before opening the door, before having to face the sneers, this new way the world worked again. He held the picture of Potter’s face, head thrown back, happy, _alive_ , vibrating under his hands in the forefront of his mind, for once not letting him examine why.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: bc I didn't make this clear - this is prob gonna be the only HP story in Shiptember sorry lads, I have a list of 52 fandoms I've never written anything for and only at most 30 days, so ^^;


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